


The Static Screams

by abelothe



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: alternative title: fuck space embrace death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:07:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abelothe/pseuds/abelothe
Summary: Pidge says that you can hear the electromagnetic waves emitted by stars. All Shiro hears is static.(He is not thinking of the people he left behind.)





	The Static Screams

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [abelothe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abelothe/pseuds/abelothe) in the [IntergalacticBigBang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/IntergalacticBigBang) collection. 



> Huge fucking thanks to poetic_devices (Afterstory) for giving me the opportunity to write this as well as putting up with my tardy bullshit.

Shiro knows enough about space. As a leading graduate from Galaxy Garrison and one of their best explorers, he has enough astrophysics and astronomy under his belt to have a decent discussion on relativity and correct a civilian’s misinterpretation of black holes. Textbook shit. Answers on a stiffly pragmatic exam. And, so, he knows, that the illusion of a static, silent void is just that.

But. He also knows enough about space to scrub the shine from the eyes of a new recruit. He’s seen the younger students with doe-eyes dedicated to science and extraterrestrial exploration - too much  _ Star Trek _ , he thinks. They see the aesthetically pleasing photos of nebulas and far-off galaxies coming in on the telescopes and imagine themselves as some sort of sci-fi hero. (Some of them, he suspects, see  _ him _ as a figure on the cover of a gaudy pulp novel. They are wrong. He is no hero.)

The universe is pretty, a twinkle in the eye of a seducer whose single objective is to mess with your head.

The universe is also completely and utterly terrifying.

Shiro likes to pretend that he is intimate with the universe beyond a mere understanding of physics - he, of all humans (not an accomplishment, the greatest of humankind is pathetic compared to the weakest of many other species) knows the harshness of space; the coldness that you suddenly feel with the realization that the beautiful night sky you’ve loved your whole life, that you’ve looked up to and dreamt of since you were a child, does less than love you back. It does nothing at all.

(Shiro has not decided whether he would rather the universe hate him than to be solemnly indifferent.)

The thing is that while, yes, space is a vacuum (a cold, desolate place, Shiro knows this more than his education can supplement), sound can travel through a vacuum in the form of electromagnetic vibrations that pulsate in similar wavelengths.

For all his knowledge, Shiro will never understand this as well as Pidge and Allura do. Pidge, because they’re a radio astronomy nerd (although more for the fancy tech than the ~stars~), and Allura because apparently these kinds of things are foundations of Altean education.

It’s Pidge who can fall asleep with headphones hooked to their long-distance radio, soothed by the sounds of space. It’s the stars, Pidge explains. They find it as comforting as any nature sounds. And, technically, Pidge argues, it  _ is _ nature, and Shiro can’t argue with that. But, still, he rather nap to the ocean waves of earth than the electromagnetic waves of burning gas.

He’s tried to appreciate it - and he does appreciate the technical aspect of it, as a member and graduate of Galaxy Garrison. But he puts on the headphones and hears static.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Pidge had asked.

The thing is, Shiro has heard space. Space does not sound like pure static. Space sounds like screams turned static. Space sounds like Samuel and Matt and he doesn’t have the heart to tell Pidge that.

He doesn’t hear the stars. How can he?

“Yes,” he had responded, because as far as he knows, Pidge still likes  _ Star Trek. _

“The equipment’s here if you ever want to use it - I tried to show it off to Lance and Hunk, but they didn’t appreciate how precise the calibrations need to be.”

Shiro can’t remember what he said next, only how the static still rang in his ears.

Pidge would have been delighted to discover that Shiro had found a use and appreciation for their radio astronomy equipment. He found himself returning to the little station that Pidge had set up next to a clear window and as distant as possible from any conflicting electromagnetic signals.

He puts on the headphones.

The static is as suffocating as it was before. (There is no air for you out there. The universe does not prioritize your survival.) He hears the entire universe screaming at him, and at the same time, he hears nothing at all. (It’s chilling how these noises are coming from dead, inanimate things.)

If he listens, he can hear things. Living things. Trees rustling in the wind (specifically, maple trees, native to the planet Earth and only the planet Earth). A terrible song that he adored as a youth. The loud and cheerful mess hall of Galaxy Garrison. His family. His friends. Samuel and Matt Holt.

Shiro’s heard of sea madness, how sailors long ago would go stir crazy after drifting at sea for months with every direction a blank stare of ocean blue. He doesn’t believe there have been any cases of space madness (so far) and wonders if this is what it’s like. He can see his legacy - Takashi “Shiro” Shirgane: First Person Driven to Insanity by Space Madness. All in all, not a particularly uninteresting way to be remembered (not that it’s particularly likely that anyone on earth will know of this marvelous achievement given that he is currently on a  _ fucking alien spaceship trying to bring down an evil galactic empire with a bunch of fucking teenagers and their fucking pet robot lions. _ )

He wonders how long it will take him to start hallucinating space mermaids before remembering, oh right, those actually exist, because of course they fucking do.

Matt would find it hilarious. Samuel would find it intriguing. But what they would hypothetically make of a situation doesn’t matter, because they’re both probably dead.

The universe hates him, but at the same time, he was  _ spared _ and he can’t for the life of him wrap his head around - oh, right. It’s not that the universe doesn’t care; it  _ can’t _ care.

After two semesters of classes on chaos theory, Shiro finally figures out the true meaning of random chaos in his own guilty existence. He shouldn’t be here at all.

_ “I really shouldn’t be here at all,” _ he thinks, but he stays rooted to Pidge’s spot next to the window and stares at what looks like a binary system. He doesn’t tell them about his discrete visits to their radio astronomy set-up; it feels somewhat perverse. Sure, he’s using the equipment as intended and as carefully as one should, but his heart’s not in it. It feels like a betrayal to Pidge, to be brooding over their family. If anyone should be more distraught, it should be Pidge; Shiro considers (considered, past tense, they are most likely dead) himself friends with Samuel and Matthew, even beyond amiable colleagues, but he never knew them as  _ family _ , not like Pidge.

(It bothers him a bit that Pidge doesn’t seem to be grieving as hard as he expected. He makes a note to try to talk to them in the future - no, that wouldn’t work. He’s not sure he could do something like that - he can’t - )

Shiro takes the headphones off once the binary system is a speck in the distance. The twin suns  dance together until they fuse as one. It should be beautiful - poetic, even. There’s gotta be a metaphor or allegory in there, somewhere, because that’s what pretty space shit is there for. It should  _ mean _ something, but for the life of him, Shiro can’t fucking figure what.

He puts the equipment back as he found it. His ears are ringing. The stars pass by.


End file.
